


I know (it gets so hard sometimes)

by coconutcluster



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers, deceit (janus); remus; patton; and logan are mentioned, just a warning, post Selfishness vs Selflessness Redux, post-ep, resemble suicidal ideation, roman has some intense thoughts about wanting to disappear that might
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutcluster/pseuds/coconutcluster
Summary: Post S vs S redux - Roman sinks out to his room, where his thoughts are interrupted by Virgil just checkin' up.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 36
Kudos: 436





	I know (it gets so hard sometimes)

**Author's Note:**

> i am broken after this episode. please enjoy

It’s funny, when Roman thinks about it, how empty he can feel. 

Funny how he feels the trembling in his hands, feels the ache of curling his hands into fists so tightly his knuckles are white, feels the heat in his face, feels his chest burn with too-short breaths, feels the stinging in his eyes of tears about God knows what - funny how he feels all of things at once, yet at his core, in his head, in every piece of him put together, he just feels hollow. Funny, funny. Just hilarious. 

He doesn’t know where he’s headed when he sinks out. His only thought is that he wants to be anywhere other than his corner in the living room, because if he has to see that look in Thomas and Patton’s eyes, he’s going to do... something. He’ll do something, and he’s already done more than enough. 

Regardless of doing and what’s been done, when he blinks away the blur in his eyes, he’s in his bedroom. Normally, that would comfort him; Remus had long since designated any other room than theirs as his hangout spot, so Roman usually found a shred of solace in the solitude. Now, though, the gaudy gold and red make his blood boil where they color the walls and furniture - he wants to tear at the wallpaper, rip his blankets off, pull down the lights strung around the ceiling and stomp on them until the glass and these feelings are ground into the carpet. He wants to destroy every part that reminds him that this room belongs to him, because for some reason, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He wants to purge every piece of himself from existence; maybe, he reasons, if one could call it reasoning, that would make up for the fact that he existed in the first place. 

In the end, though, nothing is torn down, or destroyed, or purged. He forces his arms to stay at his side as he makes his way to his bedside, collapsing onto the comforter with his eyes squeezed shut to avoid seeing himself in the mirror across the room. And he just lays there. He curls up on his side, arms crossed tightly over his stomach to force down that hollow feeling, and though he tries to focus on the feeling of his hair falling down over his forehead, the tears trailing over the bridge of his nose and past, dripping onto the bed, turn his attention back to the mess in his head, in him. 

Maybe he can tug at the knots inside. Maybe he can start with the basics and go from there, unravel everything from the easiest string first - he can do easy, he knows he can do that. He takes a shuddering breath, eyes still squeezed shut, shoulders tense, and lists off in his head. 

Murder. _Bad. Easy._

Donating to the needy. _Good_. 

Stealing. _Bad._

Rescuing a kitten from a tree. _Good_. 

Remus. _Bad._

Roman... 

_What if the murder is self defense?_

The feeling in his stomach, this horrible, gnawing hollow, seems to carve away at his insides, like a black hole in his center swallowing every good thing left in him. He wonders if black holes can be left hungry. 

_What if donating to the needy puts you in poverty?_

Maybe he deserves the mess. Maybe he deserves this scribbled, knotting confusion. Maybe he deserves to be left behind while everyone else understands in an instant. Maybe, if he was meant to be okay, to be good, he’d understand, too. Maybe he deserves this. 

_What if you’re stealing something that was yours in the first place?_

Remus is good at his job. He’s dark, and violent, and crude, and everything unappealing to sensibility, but he’s _supposed_ to be. He bursts in when he’s not expected, not wanted, and he paints grim portraits of everything Thomas is capable of in his most gruesome nightmares with details so startlingly clear, it makes them all question just how much is merely imagination, and that’s what he’s meant to do. He’s supposed to be bad - isn’t he? - but he’s so good at his job. Can Roman say the same? 

_What if Roman is evil and wrong under everything else and he’s been lying to his family his whole existence?_

His eyes fly open and meet themselves in his reflection. His face isn’t red anymore, more ashen, but his eyes are rimmed in the color; below the red are dark crescents, and though he can’t remember seeing those this morning, he can only feel they’re fitting. He sees the look in his eyes, the misery and helplessness swimming behind a glassy sheen. Pathetic. 

He doesn’t realize someone else is in his room until they sit on the edge of his bed. 

“What’s up with you?” Virgil says, ignoring Roman’s startled jump as he nudges the edge of the prince’s boot with his knee. “You look mopey.” 

Roman stares at him for a second - if it’d been Patton or Janus, he would have jumped up and dragged them out himself; Remus, and he would have curled tighter and squeezed his eyes shut again, tried to pull his mind somewhere else and ignore his brother’s taunts or jests until he gave up; Logan, and he might have snapped and said something he didn’t mean (again). But with Virgil, leaning against the bedpost, sitting criss-cross on the bed with one earbud in like this visit was just a casual, spur-of-the-moment decision... Roman just sighs and lays back down. 

“We could have gone to the callback,” he offers at last. His voice is off, too watery and thin. He tries to clear his throat, but for some reason, it sends another wave of stinging pressure behind his eyes, so he just presses his lips tightly together and lets it be. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roman manages a smile, and even he can feel the bitterness seeping through it as he says with false cheer, “Turns out selfishness is good for you! Necessary, even.” The smile crumbles. “Who woulda thought.”

Virgil watches him, eyebrows knit. “So the talk with Pat and Thomas didn’t go well, I guess.” 

“In fewer words.” 

They both fall silent as Virgil nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek. He leans, just a little bit, to get a better view of Roman’s face - he’s just staring straight ahead, because his energy, the adrenaline of arguing, has all but drained from him completely - and says, gently, “You good?”

It’s the irony in his choice of words that makes Roman laugh, that’s all. But he laughs, as acerbic and harsh as the sound is, and Virgil doesn’t know any better and just raises his eyebrows, and it makes Roman’s laugh turn to something much more pitiful in a matter of seconds. “I don’t know,” he says honestly, a small, wrought sort of smile still on his face, even as his voice breaks. “I don’t know, I...” He grits his teeth, the smile turning to a grimace as his stomach drops. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Virgil frowns again. “Princey?”

“Patton can be wrong,” he whispers. “Did you know that? He doesn’t have all the answers. He never has, but I’ve put so much faith in him and I don’t know what to do with all of it anymore, because he can be wrong. Did you know that, Virgil?”

“Princey-”

“Patton said the wedding was the right choice. I’ve never wanted to fight him on anything more than that _stupid_ wedding, but he had Thomas’ best interests in mind, so I believed him. He said the callback was selfish, and that being selfish was wrong, and I believed him. I wanted the callback, so I was selfish, and that was wrong of me, so I said wedding.” Roman curls his arms tighter, digs his nails into his palms and his fists into his sides, pushing to feel something other than empty. “And _now_ \- now they’re saying it’s _okay_ to be selfish, that Thomas _needs_ to be selfish to stay happy. I’ve been telling myself the opposite for weeks now, and they turn around and accept it like it should have been obvious from the beginning.” 

“Ro-”

“And instead of understanding it and moving on like they have, I’m just confused, and it _hurts_ , Virgil- I said something stupid because I _always_ do, and they took his side over mine, and even though I want to hate them for it, I just feel like ripping everything out of me and disappearing forever because Thomas doesn’t _need_ me anymore-” 

“Roman.” 

His mouth snaps shut. 

He doesn’t want to look over - his vision is so blurred, he can’t even make out his reflection in the mirror anymore, and though he’s not complaining about that in particular, if he looks over, Virgil will see him crying. He suddenly wants anything else than for Virgil to see him crying. He looks over anyway. 

Virgil’s watching him with those tired eyes, but they don’t look tired for once; they’re wide, and his eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Roman like he’s a little freaked out, and it makes something deep in Roman recoil, makes him want to curl tighter and close his eyes for the rest of time. _Pathetic._

“Roman,” Virgil says again, quieter, less sharp. “What are you talking about?” 

“I messed up, Virge. They don’t want me anymore.” He turns back to face forward, letting his head fall back onto the pillow like there’s weights where his brain should be, pulling him down. “I don’t deserve to be here.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Virgil nudges his boot again. “What did you do?”

Roman opens his mouth, closes it, swallowing the shame that rises in his throat with the confession. “I lost composure, simply put. Made fun of Janus’ name.”

And Virgil freezes. 

It takes a second and a quick glance at the anxious Side for Roman to understand the pause, and when he finally realizes, he can’t look away. Virgil blinks once, twice, his frown thin and stern as he searches Roman’s eyes. “He told you his name,” he says lowly. It’s not a question, and Roman doesn’t answer. 

There’s a moment - it can’t be longer than a few seconds, but it feels like hours dragging by - where Virgil only stares, his teeth grit, where Roman thinks he’s just going to get up and walk out to God knows where. Roman seems to have a penchant for driving people away.

But then Virgil bites the inside of his cheek again, slumping back against the bedpost with a small thud, his arms crossed over his chest. His voice is flat, forced, as he says, “Anything else?”

It’s a horrible facade. Virgil’s face is flushed, the darkness under his eyes getting darker by the second; it’s a dreadful attempt to pretend he’s anything but fuming. But Roman knows it’s for his sake, and he can’t help but feel appreciative. “He got upset back, said he couldn’t tell who the evil twin was between me and Remus. Thomas and Patton didn’t-” He forces a breath, trying to even out his voice as it starts wavering. “They didn’t say anything back to that, and I,” he clears his throat, “don’t think Thomas really needs me anymore. Or wants me, for that matter.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

Roman glances over to see Virgil shaking his head, more to himself than anything. “Why not?” 

“That’s what I said before I ducked out,” Virgil says, eyebrows raised; he nudges Roman’s boot again as the ghost a smirk hints at his face. “We all saw how well that went.” 

And before Roman thinks, he blurts, “You didn’t have a replacement.”

The smirk falls as quick as it appeared. “What?” Virgil says, frowning all over again, and Roman curses inwardly - he’d put himself in a vulnerable position, joking about ducking out just to make Roman feel better, and Roman went and ruined it. He could almost call it a talent at this point. 

“A replacement,” he repeats, just above a whisper, committing to his slip-up. “We need you, because if you’re gone, you’re _gone_ \- there’s no one to fill in for you. You’re too important to lose.” Virgil looks almost flattered, but he narrows his eyes as Roman glances to the other side of the room where Remus’ bed is unmade, covered in stray wrappers and clothes. “But me- if I duck out, there’s someone to take my place.” 

He stares at the bed, swiping the tears from his face and finally sitting up to get a better look at Remus’ things, though his focus isn’t on the objects themselves. He’s had an epiphany. “If I duck out,” he realizes, “Thomas would still have Creativity-”

“Roman, you are _not_ ducking out.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” he snaps, but Virgil doesn’t look hurt. He just scowls, like he can’t believe the question, and Roman has to push down another wave of tears because he doesn’t understand, because again, again, _again_ , he doesn’t get the answer that’s obviously so simple. 

“Because you’re important, dipshit. What makes you think Remus would do good on his own?”

And there’s that word again, _good_ , thrown around like it doesn’t have implications or expectations or standards attached, like it doesn’t weigh him down to say it. It doesn’t make Roman laugh this time. “Maybe he could,” he seethes, something boiling up inside him, crawling up his throat and behind his eyes, forcing his hands into fists again. “Maybe he could be the good one.”

Virgil’s scowl falters. “Roman-” 

“Patton can be wrong. Patton said I was the good one and Remus was the bad one, but Patton can be _wrong_ , Virgil,” Roman repeats, his voice breaking all over again, like everything inside him is about to shatter. “ _How_ can I be the good one when I’m like this? When Janus is helpful and I just laugh at him? If Janus- if _Deceit_ is good-” His voice comes out a ragged breath, and he drops his head in his hands, fighting the odd urge to just laugh and let the sound mix with his stifled cries. The black hole inside has swallowed everything, he knows now, because all he feels when he tries to breathe is the gutted pain of being nothing. “Then what am I?”

And though he thought he’d snapped earlier, broken into pieces when he couldn’t wrap his head around the shift in morals, he feels something snap in this moment. It’s a painful thing in his chest, sharp and jarring, ripping itself from where it had been buried for days, weeks, months now; he should fight it, he knows that. This caved-in version of himself is unsightly. He’d seen it so many times, through the bags under his eyes and the tremble in his hands and the crescents dug into his palms on nights when ideas were naught, when he couldn’t bring himself to work or sleep to get a reprieve from himself. He sees it when he lashes out at the others, when he’s scared and confused and overwhelmed and responds by pushing his fear onto them with biting remarks, no better than Remus’ taunts. He should fight the vitriol climbing up his throat now, before it comes anymore to light, before it paints him any more pathetic than he already has himself-

“Roman,” Virgil’s voice comes through his thoughts, hushed and hesitant, and a feather-light touch lands on his shoulder. “You’re a human being.” 

Roman glances up at him through his tears, the question in his eyes.

“People make mistakes,” Virgil explains, shifting to sit side by side with him with a small sigh; he stares at their reflection in the mirror for a second, frowning, like he’s searching for the right words to use. “People have flaws. It doesn’t make you all good or all bad,” he says with a shrug, “it just makes you human.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, that Roman nearly believes him in an instant. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Virgil says without hesitating. When Roman just stares at his lap, tugging at a loose thread in his pants and trying to stanch his tears, Virgil lowers his hand to bump their shoulders together, raising his eyebrows when Roman glances at him. “I know how it feels to think you’re unwanted, Princey,” he continues quietly. “I know it’s awful. But I think Thomas does want you- I _know_ he needs you.” His mouth flickers into a smile, small and brief. “You wanna know why?”

Roman gives the tiniest laugh, more of an exhale than anything, but Virgil’s shadow of a smirk brings it forward regardless. It’s a nice glimmer of something... good. “Why?”

“‘Cause you make us better.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Roman blinks at Virgil, owlish and surprised, right before he lurches forward and hugs him. 

Virgil lets out a grunt as Roman buries his face in his shoulder, but he returns the embrace a second later, patting Roman on the back gently. “Thank you,” Roman mumbles into his hoodie, struggling to keep his voice even as a wave of tears rushes over him yet again. He wants to say more - after seeing the looks on Thomas and Patton’s faces when he laughed at Janus, after the way they refused to meet his eyes, after the shame he felt burning in his chest as he sank out, that one simple line was more than enough to send him to sentiments - but in the wake of the violent ups and downs of the day, he can only hold on tighter and repeat, softly, “Thank you.” 

“It’s gonna get better,” Virgil says, still patting him on the back. “I know life kinda sucks right now, but it’ll suck less after a while - but you have to be here to see it, yeah?”

And Roman manages a laugh, a real one, as choked as it is, because he can hear the crooked smile in Virgil’s reassurances and it’s such a comfort that he can’t help smiling, too. And he tries to let himself believe the reassurances with the smile. He lets himself believe it will be okay, eventually. 

“Yeah.”


End file.
